


challenge accepted

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Banter, Competition, Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sparring, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Wall Sex, shrug emote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: “I’m gonna kick your aft!”Drift raised his glass. “That I’d love to see,” he teased.Rodimus leaned in and clinked his glass against Drift’s. “You’re on.”





	challenge accepted

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to get this out of my system hahahahaha goodbye

They hadn’t long settled back on the _Lost Light_ again when Rodimus had started demanding that he and Drift resume the lessons Drift had given before… and a sparring session. Drift arched an optic ridge at one of these moments, thankful to hide his smile a little behind the brim of his glass. “You seem very eager about this,” he finally replied.

 

Rodimus laughed. “Any reason I shouldn’t be?” he shot back.

 

Drift quirked that optic ridge again. “No,” he said. “It’s just that after the first few times we sparred, you wanted to move on to swordplay.” The amused glint in his optics gave away more than he maybe intended.

 

Rodimus kicked him under the booth. “Wow!” he said, but he still laughed.

 

“What!” Drift joined in the laughter. “I didn’t say anything.”

 

“You didn’t _have_ to.”

 

Drift’s lips twisted wickedly. “You’re right, I don’t,” he said, taking another swig of his drink. His friend exclaimed in half-joking affront.

 

“I’m gonna kick your aft!”

 

Drift raised his glass. “That I’d love to see,” he teased.

 

Rodimus leaned in and clinked his glass against Drift’s. “You’re on.”

 

Given that, Drift was sure it shouldn’t surprise him that Rodimus suddenly booked the sparring deck for them later that week. Only the promise of more engex had kept him in the booth that night. Drift shook his helm as he stretched on the soft flooring of one of the private sparring rooms. He was early — or Rodimus was late. Neither would be surprising.

 

He twisted, grabbing a pede-tip. It wasn’t like Rodimus was _bad_ , or an unskilled fighter, it was just that Drift had spent many years as a Decepticon combat instructor, only to have that particular skillset honed by another talented mech named Wing. That’d be unfair against many very skilled fighters. Fortunately, Rodimus only took his remarks as a friendly challenge. Drift smiled. After all that they’d endured, having some healthy competition was welcome and refreshing.

 

The doors opened and Drift peered over to see Rodimus stride in, shaking his helm and throwing his hands in the air. “Magnus _refused_ to let me leave his office until I signed like four thousand reports. Does he do things in triplicate? I swear my vision was at least doubling.”

 

Drift laughed as he sat up properly. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

 

“No kidding,” he muttered. “It’s genuinely fun for him, I swear it is.” Still, he soon enough let a grin spread over his lips as he took in the swordsmech sitting cross-legged on the floor. “You’re down there like you’ve already accepted my victory.”

 

Drift snorted, standing fluidly to his pedes. “Please,” he remarked. “Even you know that stretching before sparring is important.”

 

Making a scoffing sound, Rodimus placed his hands delicately upon his chestplate as though in affront. “Even _I_ know?” he repeated.

 

The swordsmech sighed and planted his hands on his hips. “You know what I mean.”

 

That stupid grin of his only widened. “Do I?”

 

Now this was getting obnoxious. “Magnus really knows how to put you in a difficult mood, doesn’t he?”

 

“Funny,” Rodimus said, “he says the same about you.”

 

Drift groaned. “Just get over here.”

 

Miraculously, Rodimus obeyed.

 

Drift shifted his pedes apart, adopting a loose ready stance. “Alright, so — ” Before he could even figure out what he even intended to say, Rodimus threw a punch at his face. Drift blocked it automatically but he still made a squawk of surprise. That sparked more laughter from the other mech, and a snort from Drift. “Ah, _now_ you’re impatient?” He returned with an easy jab, one that Rodimus easily swatted away.

 

Rodimus grinned all over again. “You always said to use the element of surprise.”

 

They danced around one another, almost lackadaisical in their jabs and kicks. “I’m pretty sure that was _your_ ideology.”

 

Rodimus scoffed, jumping closer to swing an elbow Drift’s way. “Sure,” he grunted, and stumbled as he nearly overbalanced when Drift dodged. “But you were the one who said a pre-emptive strike was the best strategy.”

 

“Hmm…”

 

“...and followed it up by knocking me on my aft with no warning.”

 

Drift snickered as he darted out of Rodimus’ reach. “I did do that, didn’t I?”

 

“Yeah you did, you big — ”

 

Whatever he was got lost as Rodimus charged forward, swinging at him wildly. That itself was a surprise. Hadn’t he at least taught Rodimus better than this? Drift spent the next few moments dodging out of the way of the wide arcs that Rodimus’ arms took. He was acutely aware that each movement was slowly edging him closer and closer to the wall. Was that Rodimus’ plan? Not bad.

 

Drift decided he’d play into it for now. That could come in handy if the day’s theme truly was the element of surprise. And perhaps he flirted with it too closely, but he couldn’t resist. This was just fun between friends, right?

 

Drift waited until there was only _just_ enough maneuvering room to twist out of Rodimus’ way and out of his little trap, but when he spun — something instead had him stumbling into the wall. Scrap — of course. He’d been looking for hands, not feet. Of all things, Rodimus had _tripped_ him. If nothing else, Drift felt a pulse of amusement for the split second in which Rodimus looked just as surprised as he’d been. And then, once again — _hands!_

 

He blinked rapidly, instantly bringing his arms up to deflect an impending blow, but instead Rodimus planted his hands on either side of Drift’s helm.

 

Oh.

 

“Hi.”

 

Drift raised an optic ridge. “Hi,” he said.

 

Rodimus smirked. “I got better while you were gone.” Primus, he was downright _smarmy!_

 

The swordsmech snorted. “I see that.”

 

Rodimus rolled his optics, even as he closed the distance between their frames and pressed flush against Drift’s plating. “Aren’t you impressed in the slightest?”

 

Drift chuckled, letting his engine turn over in his chassis. “Is admiration _really_ what you’re looking for here?” he said, arching an optic ridge.

 

The other mech hummed, leaning in even closer. “Always,” he remarked with a grin. He moved one of his hands, tracing over Drift’s shoulder and down his chestplate. “But right now I think lust works, too.”

 

A downright purr from his engine joined more of Drift’s laughter. “Oh, well — then you’re in luck.”

 

Instead of continuing their silly banter, Rodimus closed the remaining distance between them and kissed him. He let his hand complete its trek down Drift’s frame. He took a sharp intake as Rodimus teased the seams around his already warm interface cover.

 

He’d already conceded — for now — and admitted he wanted this, so Drift found no use in being coy. He let the panel fold open at Rodimus’ touch, his field spiraling out hungrily at the eager thrum of the mech’s engine reverberating through their chestplates. True to form, Rodimus wasted no time pushing two fingers into his valve and drawing a gasp from Drift. That effectively broke their kiss, but that didn’t seem to matter to Rodimus, who mouthed hungrily along his jaw instead as he thrust his fingers as deep as he could manage.

 

Drift let out a soft grunt, shifting slightly between the mech and the wall; Rodimus had him boxed in, his frame tight against Drift’s and pinning him. There wasn’t much room for him to go anywhere and honestly,  that was even more thrilling.

 

He still had one free arm, though, and he wrapped it around Rodimus’ neck, squeezing as the mech continued pumping his fingers in Drift’s valve and occasionally rolling his thumb over his anterior node. He clearly remembered where all the best spots were, because he had Drift panting and quivering between his frame and the wall, soft murmurs of pleasure escaping him. Each movement of Rodimus’ fingers over the charged nodes in his valve made his field sing and his plating twitch, and brought him — with almost embarrassing swiftness — to overload.

 

Drift panted, his vocalizer loose in the aftermath of his release. He brought his optics online slowly, smiling loosely in response to Rodimus’ satisfied grin.

 

By now, Rodimus had released his own equipment. As far as Drift was concerned, nothing could get him ready for a second round faster than the tease of Rodimus’ hot and ready equipment against his thigh. But first, he gathered Rodimus close again to capture him in another seeking kiss.

 

They only broke apart again after a string of giddy, hungry kisses. Drift huffed a breathless laugh against Rodimus’ lips. “I missed this,” he murmured.

 

Drift felt Rodimus’ glossa as he licked his lips. “Me too,” he replied softly.

 

Drift’s spark fluttered warmly and he smiled, squirming his hips again, a shiver crawling up his backstrut at the brush of Rodimus’ hand. “C’mon,” he rasped.

 

Rodimus grinned and nipped his jawline. “ _Now_ who’s impatient?” he said. He spread his fingers in a scissoring motion, eliciting another gasp from Drift. “You already got off and everything.”

 

“Rodimus,” Drift hissed, his helm falling back against the wall. He threw the leg that was not pinned so tightly over Rodimus’ hip, but it did not yet encourage anything from him other than the mech lazily thrusting his fingers into his valve. With that, and feeling the incidental grind of Rodimus’ spike against his plating, had Drift worked up as if he hadn’t already had a quick overload from this alone.

 

Normally he didn’t have to _ask_ so much to get Rodimus to spike him. Had he been spoiled before, or was Rodimus just being difficult?

 

As Drift huffed and squirmed again, squeezing his valve around now three of Rodimus’ fingers, the mech let out another breathless chuckle. Drift grunted. He was _definitely_ being difficult. Clearly he was waiting on something.

 

“Rodimus — ”

 

“Yes?” he murmured, punctuating it by pressing his thumb over Drift’s anterior node. He had to reset his vocalizer before speaking again. Before he could, Rodimus nuzzled the side of his helm and said, “What do you want?”

 

“Oh, don’t be _dense_ ,” Drift retorted.

 

Rodimus snorted again. “What do you _say_?”

 

Drift huffed out a hot vent. So that was it. “ _Please._ ” There was no shame in his voice, though there might have been something near exasperation.

 

“Please…?”

 

Drift squeezed his arm and leg around Rodimus, engine straining as his valve rippoled around the mech’s fingers again. “Please _fuck me,_ already!” he managed between clenched dentae.

 

“Definitely impatience.” Rodimus snickered.

 

“You’re just a demon,” Drift grumbled. But even as he did, Rodimus shifted his frame, pulling Drift’s other leg up to wrap around his hips as well.

 

Rodimus finally slipped his fingers out of his slippery valve, and Drift only squeezed his legs tighter around the mech’s frame as he _finally_ felt the head of Rodimus’ spike nudging at his entrance. Rodimus began to push into his valve, drawing a moan from Drift, who was panting again. From the way Rodimus also quaked, Drift could tell he’d practically been bursting at the seams for this, too. Drift was almost impressed he’d been able to hold off so long. But teasing him about it was the last thing on Drift’s mind, considering he finally had a proper stretch in his valve to relieve that deep ache.

 

Drift squeezed his legs around Rodimus’ hips again, encouraging his first rock into his valve, charge flaring out in his field. He cursed under his breath, his plating quivering as Rodimus finally stopped teasing him and began to fuck him into the wall in earnest. Drift bit his lip, muffling soft sounds into Rodimus’ shoulder with each drive of his hips forward.

 

From as much as he’d been teased before, Drift knew Rodimus would bring him to a quick climax this time, too. And damn it all, he was _burning_ for it. He hissed out the mech’s name again, panting harshly in time with each of Rodimus’ thrusts.

 

Pretty soon, the charge in Drift’s frame coasted to that crescendo again, drawing another short cry from his lips. This time, he felt Rodimus overload along with him. There was truly no better experience, in his opinion.

 

With Rodimus spent, he let them fold slowly to the floor; the springy mat of it made the transit practically comfortable. Not that Drift would care either way — he was content to lay against Rodimus, letting his vents and fans whirr as loud as they pleased, so long as they cooled off his frame.

 

After another minute, Rodimus let out a snort of laughter. Drift lifted his helm, making a questioning grunt. “Winning feels good,” Rodimus said.

 

Drift rolled his optics. “Yeah, next time I won’t go easy on you,” he said, slumping back into his previous position.

 

“Oh, you are _so_ full of it!”

 

Drift grinned against Rodimus’s chestplate. “Takes one to know one.”


End file.
